The Beauty In Red
by x-Pretty-Kitty-x
Summary: "So blonde crazy girlfriend and a double murder with a shot gun. Wow, far from stereotypical." ... Her voice was too cheerful and her face too sweet to be a shot gun wielding murderer, but here she was and even Sherlock went white. AN-Johnlockish and mentions of 'The Woman' xxxxx


**Sherlock**

**The Beauty In Red**

**So this is my tumblr contest fic. I hope you like it xxxx**

**P.S. you lucky people get two fics in one day lol :p hope they keep you occupied while I catch up on my other fics :) xxxxx**

"Sherlock, stop murdering the violin, Lestrade just called, he's got a case for us."

John had missed a lot of things about Sherlock since he 'left' two years ago, but he didn't miss his agitated violin playing brought on by the lack of cases.

The violin fell silent and Sherlock turned to John.

"Really?" The sociopath's eyes lit up and hid voice was full of childlike glee as though it was Christmas day.

"Yes."

"Finally!" The excitement was evident in his voice but he placed the violin and bow down on the desk with the greatest of care.

John smiled affectionately, the love and care Sherlock gave to the violin was so opposite to the sociopath on a case.

Sherlock would probably throw himself off a building if he knew what John thought about him with the violin. Oh, wait, he's done that already.

"Let's go then."

x..x

"Hello boys. So we have ..."

"Ooo, a double murder! Brilliant!"

"Why Sherlock, the things that get you excited." Lestrade rolled his eyes and gave John a knowing look.

"Sherlock, tone down the glee just a little."

"Ssh, John, I'm working."

John tutted in response but crouched next to Sherlock to examine the bodies.

"Blonde, about 5"8, eight stone, four inch heels ..."

"Sherlock, neither are blonde or wearing heels, they're both ..."

"The murderer, Lestrade. Keep up."

"You worked that out from the two dead guys."

"No, there's a blonde hair on both bodies and a shoe print. Honestly, Lestrade, how are you even an officer?"

"Detective Inspector."

"That's even worse."

"Play nice, Sherlock."

"Mm."

"Go on then, _genius_, what do you make of it?"

"Jealous girlfriend."

"So he cheated on her with another _man_?"

"Don't be stupid, John. Neither are gay, far too unkempt for that."

"For the fifth time, Sherlock, a man doesn't have to be gay to take care of his

appearance. You're not gay."

"Mm. Clearly a shot-gun, not very experienced. Not killed here. Not enough blood or shells."

"Excuse me?"

"She'd have to fire a few bullets before being so precise."

"Okay, so where do we look?"

"Do I have to do your job for you, Lestrade?"

"A little help wouldn't go amiss, London is a big city to search for a five foot eight, eight stone blonde in."

"I don't care very much for sarcasm."

"Sherlock." John warned.

Sherlock 'huffed' in response.

"Try within a two-mile radius if here."

"Why two miles?"

"If you had two bodies in your car, would you want to travel more than two miles, especially in heels?"

"I guess not." Lestrade replied unsurely.

"Right then. Let's go, John."

"Bye, Lestrade."

x..x

"So blonde crazy girlfriend and a double murder with a shot-gun. Wow, far from stereotypical."

"Excuse me?"

"Blondes, apparently they're dump and very flirtatious."

"How does a hair colour depict someone's intelligence?"

"It's just what people say, Sherlock." John sighed; it was so hard to have an ordinary conversation with him sometimes.

"How rude to assume that because someone is blonde it means they're stupid, you're blonde, John."

"I'm sandy brown, Sherlock."

"Oh."

John gave a Sherlock a frown before continuing.

"Back to the case, have you deduced anymore about the murderer yet?"

"Of course I have."

"So ..."

"So what?"

John groaned in exasperation.

"What have you deduced?"

"Ah, well, the woman is obviously on a spree of killing ex-boyfriends who hurt her ..."

John flinched when Sherlock said 'the woman', remembering what effect she had on Sherlock a couple of years ago.

"Something the matter, John?"

"What?"

"You flinched when I was telling you my deduction."

"Did I?" John lied.

"Yes."

"Sorry."

"You're thinking about her."

"Sorry, who?"

"Irene Adler."

"What, Sherlock, Irene has nothing to do with this case."

"So why are you thinking about her?"

"Sherlock, I'm not."

"Your body language says otherwise."

"Can't you just focus on the case?!"

John was slowly losing patience and wanted to storm out, but they were in the middle of a case so he wouldn't dare.

"You're jealous of her."

"For God's sake, Sherlock!"

Sherlock smirked arrogantly as he usually did when he was right.

"Yes, I'm jealous. I'm jealous that you risked your life to save her, I'm jealous of the way you looked at her, the way she made you smile. I'm damn jealous that you never stopped thinking of her!"

"John."

"I'm going out!"

"Where?"

"Out!"

The front door slammed shut with more force than John intended and he was hoping that Mrs Hudson was out.

"What was that about, Sherlock?" Mrs Hudson asked, having heard the front door slam.

"John is mad at me."

"It doesn't take much." Came Mrs Hudson's disapproving tone as she stared at the jar of eyeballs on the table.

The violin ceased with a screech.

"Sherlock, please be careful with that."

"Why would John be jealous?"

'Well, how should I know, dear? You spend more time with him than I do."

"Anyway, back to the case. Now, where does this girl live and what does she do? Besides use a shot-gun on her ex-boyfriends."

"Oh, sounds like an interesting one."

"Yes, but John isn't here to be impressed."

x..x

The park stretched out verdantly around him. Which was odd because he had no recollection of how he got there. From the minute John stormed out the flat, he had just walked and walked, trying to put as much distance between him and Sherlock as quickly as possible.

He sat on a bench, trying to arrange his thoughts especially after telling Sherlock he was jealous of Irene.

After a while, he decided he couldn't manage his thoughts and focused on the case.

A woman walked past him in pretty four inch heels, blonde and wearing a sexy red dress to match the heels under a sleek black coat.

John smiled in appreciation and jumped up to greet her.

"Hey."

"Hello." She seemed surprised but somewhat impressed.

"Nice outfit."

"Thank you. Chantelle."

"John." He shook her hand, while taking in her beauty.

High cheekbones, slender figure, long legs. If she had brown curls, she could be a female Sherlock.

'Stop it, John.'

"So I'm guessing you have a date, given the outfit."

"You could say that."

"Oh, well I best let you go then. Thanks for the talk."

"Thanks for the compliments."

"You're welcome." He smiled brightly and let her walk away, noting her blood red nails.

'Perfectionist.' He summed up, given the whole matching outfit and black coat to compliment it and her figure.

God, he was getting like Sherlock. Speaking of him, John felt decided he'd calmed down enough to return to the flat.

x..x

He was the cleverest person he had ever met but seemed to be malfunctioning in some way.

The whole flat had been torn apart and Sherlock was stood in the middle of the chaos.

"What the bloody hell, Sherlock?!"

"I'm confused, John. I can't focus on this case. Nothing makes sense. It's all jumbled."

"Sherlock, for God's sake, stop pacing around. And bloody clean up this mess."

"Why are you jealous, John? I don't get it."

"Sherlock, leave it."

"I can't, John. Because I can't think or focus."

"Bloody stop pacing." John replied, grabbing Sherlock by the forearms.

"What's this I'm feeling, John?"

"Well, what does it feel like?"

"My heart is beating fast and my stomach feels weird."

"It could be love."

"Nonsense. I can't feel love, caring is not an option. Caring is a weakness. It can't be love." Sherlock rambled, having pulled out of John's grip and pacing again.

"Sherlock. For once, would you please sit down and listen to me?! It isn't rocket science ... Well, not exactly."

Sherlock ceased pacing and flopped onto the couch, John sitting next to him.

"Sherlock, I feel it too. That weird feeling, so I know what it is. And it's love."

"But ..."

"Sherlock, please. It is. And it's normal to feel it. Yes, it's a weakness but when reciprocated, it's nice."

"Really?"

"You didn't know."

"No."

"Well, yes, it is."

Sherlock leaned closer to John and he was sure the detective was studying him like one of his experiments, but he leaned in and kissed him, testing the feeling.

He pulled away quickly and blushed, before jumping up off the couch.

"I deduced that the murderer has red nail varnish, in fact, she has a preference for red. A red dress to attract the guys. Perfectionist."

Until now, John was stunned into silence.

'Perfectionist.'

"Oh, God. Sherlock, I've met her." He replied, jumping up off the couch and looking at Sherlock's scrawled notes.

"You've met her?"

"She was walking through the park, I spoke to her, complimented her dress. All but checked her out." He blushed slightly, looking away from Sherlock.

"Was she blonde?"

"Blonde, elbow-length hair, taller than she looked given the length of her dress, about 5"8, four inch heels, red nails, very beautiful. I even if she asked her if she had a date and she replied 'you could say that'. Sherlock, I met her and let her get away.

For the whole time John had been talking, Sherlock had a look of pure glee and pride on his face.

"John, you are brilliant. You've done it, you've cracked the case." Sherlock replied, cupping John's face and kissing him quickly.

Then he stopped mid walk to the door, spun on his heels and back to John; who had just turned to follow him and replied,

"I think you're right, John and you answered my question."

He went to kiss John again, when he stopped him.

"Later, Sherlock. Let's find this woman first."

Just then there was a scream from the street.

"Ready?"

"Always."

The two grabbed their coats and bounded down the stairs onto the street.

"I knew I recognized you, Doctor Watson."

She was quite the sight with her long blonde hair and perfect nails dripping blood, the shot-gun in her hand and the blood streaking the barrel red.

"And I was hoping it would be you and Mr Holmes to catch me."

Her voice was too cheerful and her face too sweet to be a shot-gun wielding murderer, but here she was and even Sherlock went white.

Police sirens sounded close by but Chantelle didn't move, she just stood there waiting and John had to ask.

"Why did you do it?"

"They thought I was some cheap little whore, good enough to sleep with but not so much to want a relationship with."

"Drop the gun, now!" D.I Lestrade ordered, gun pointing at Chantelle.

She dropped it and raised her hands; her task was done so there was no need to fight.

x..x

"Wow, what a nutter."

"John, don't be like that. The girl was hurt, can you blame her?"

"Normal girls cut up the ex's clothes, key his car, smash his stuff. They don't take a shot-gun and put a bullet in them."

"Yes, well. This one didn't fit the stereotype, as you said."

"Stereotype of a dumb blonde, no. Stereotype of a psychopath, yes."

"Well."

John rolled his eyes and sat on the couch.

"John." Sherlock began, sitting on the couch next to him.

"Sherlock." John replied, giving him a small smile.

Sherlock continued on, "About what I feel, for you, how would ordinary people show it?"

"Well, they'll kiss or they'll cuddle," John felt himself flush with embarrassment then cleared his throat.

"they might go on dates, have quiet nights in and are, well, nice to each other, more nicer than friends."

"Oh, so cuddling, how exactly do you do that?"

John looked at Sherlock and saw his awkwardness; it must be so difficult to be him sometimes.

"Well, I'll have to show you. Come here."

Sherlock shuffled nervously towards John. John wrapped his arm around Sherlock, pulling him into his chest. Sherlock rested his head on John's shoulder and pulled his legs into himself.

"So that's it. It's really that easy?"

"Yes, as long as you're comfortable with that person."

"Well, I've always been comfortable with you, John."

John looked down at Sherlock and placed a kiss to his forehead, smiling at the young detective.

"John, can we try kissing again?" Sherlock whispered hopefully.

"Um, sure, yeah, why not."

John leaned his head down to press his lips to Sherlock's. Sherlock pushed back a little, his natural instincts taking over and brought a hand up to John's hair.

John responded by wrapping his other arm around Sherlock, bringing him closer.

Sherlock moaned into John's lips, adding slight pressure before flicking his tongue out experimentally.

It was John's turn to moan in surprise, he smiled slightly, Sherlock was a quick learner.

He opened his mouth slightly to let Sherlock's tongue explore it.

Sherlock sat up a little, using his height to give him leverage over John.

John's hands ran down his back as he did this, making Sherlock shiver slightly.

Finally, John broke the kiss, feeling breathless and flushed.

"You learn fast." John commented with a smile.

"I have a good teacher. Who I hope will teach me other things." Sherlock smiled in return, curling into John's lap and resting his head on his chest.

John gripped Sherlock, running his hand up and down his back soothingly.

Sherlock sighed happily, it was the happiest he had felt without a chemical stimulus.

**END**


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